


Text It

by iamsiriuslyriddikulus



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsiriuslyriddikulus/pseuds/iamsiriuslyriddikulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Connor accidentally and drunkenly calls the guy who fixed his laptop once to pick him up from a club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Text It

All of his contacts blur together as he squints. “Can someone help me find Uber?” he asks.

“You’re  _bailing_ on us, so no,” Asher says. He punches forward with his drink to accentuate what he says and manages to spill some, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Laurel and Michaela dance behind Asher, giggling to each other. They look drunker than he feels.

“I need to call an Uber,” he whines. “Where’s Wes?” Looking around, Wes is nowhere in sight, but neither is Rebecca. He scoffs. “Whatever. This is dumb. I’m going to be outside waiting on my ride.”

The words on his phone aren’t clear, but he thinks he’s hit the U’s as he swipes over to make the call. Everything around him spins just enough to tell him he shouldn’t have had that last drink, and he groans as he leans against wall of the club.

“Hello?” The voice is groggy on the other end, as if the driver just woke up.

“Are you Uber?” he asks.

“Wha – No, this isn’t Uber. You use an app to call Uber,” the guys says.

“Shit, I knew I was doing something wrong.”

“You have the wrong number.”

The voice sounds weirdly familiar but not enough that he can place it, and he quickly speaks before the guy on the other end decides to hang up. “Wait, who is this?”

“Why does it matter to you? Oliver.” When Connor says nothing, he adds, “Oliver Hampton.”

“ _Ollie_!” Connor bobs his head up and down and grins. Oliver Hampton fixed his laptop a few months back. He had a shy smile and a nerdy sort of cute that Connor hadn’t even realized he was into. Oliver pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose even when he didn’t need to, and he swayed a little when he laughed.

“Okay, who is this?” Oliver asks.

“Connor Walsh. You –”

“Fixed your laptop in January.” Connor lets out a delighted sound when Oliver remembers him. “Why do you have my number saved in your contacts?”

“You were very cute, and I thought I might just break my laptop again.” Connor winces as soon as it slips out. It’s not one of his smoothest lines. “Kidding. I’ll just call an Uber or walk home or something.”

Before he can even fully remove the phone from his ear, Oliver speaks again. “Wait. Where are you?”

“I’m at Rumor, but it’s cool, I’ll just –”

“That’s really not far from where I am.”

“It’s  _cool_ , really. I don’t want to bother you,” Connor says, but Oliver just laughs.

“Too late. I’m definitely not going to chance you  _walking_ home like this. I’ll see you soon. Don’t move.”

Connor stares at his phone for a good minute before tucking it back in his pocket.

\- -

He realizes a little before Oliver comes that he has no clue what Oliver’s car looks like. He fiddles with his hands and feels surprisingly nervous. The situation is less than ideal. He feels a little nauseous, and it’s not hard to be aware that he is about as far away from put-together as he gets.

A honk jars him out of his thoughts, and Oliver rolls down the window to shout out to him. “Connor – over here!”

He stumbles over to the car and gets in. It takes him two tries to get the seat belt buckled. “You didn’t need to come get me. It’s cool.”

“You sounded like you were about to do something stupid. Really, it’s no problem.”

“I don’t know how much more stupid I can get than calling you.” He groans when the car starts moving and closes his eyes. That makes it infinitely worse.

“Are you going to throw up? Please don’t throw up in my car.”

“Yeah, busy trying not to.” He glances over at Oliver. When Oliver pulls up to a red light, he glances over and offers him a smile.

“Okay, address. I’m going to need that. I’ll just put it in my phone.”

“I’m like a eight minute drive from here. I live on South 22nd Street.”

“Oh right. Near Rittenhouse Square. I remember now. How could I forget – you’re rich.”

“I told you I could have walked. It’s just like a mile.”

“It’s fine, Connor.”

Connor quiets down. It takes energy not to throw up. He first tries to stare outside, but the cars moving past do nothing to help. Closing his eyes just makes him focus on the movement of the car. Eventually he settles for staring at Oliver. He is sure Oliver notices, but he keeps his eyes to the road. The fear of throwing up keeps Connor from talking.

When they finally pull in front of his apartment, Oliver glances over at him with worry. “Do you need help? I can help get you upstairs.”

“I’ll be fine,” Connor says, but loses balance and nearly falls over the moment he steps back. “Fuck.” This is not how he had ever planned seeing Oliver again, and he straightens his back to put all his energy into walking straight.

“You are not fine.” Oliver steps out as well and locks the car behind him. When he wraps an arm around Connor, Connor doesn’t fail to notice his blush. “You can lean into me.”

“I’m not  _that_  drunk, Ollie.”

Oliver smiles and holds him tighter. “You’re calling me Ollie. I don’t think you’re helping your case.”

“ You’re rude. Anyone ever tell you that?” Connor asks. “But also you smell nice.”

“And you’re amazingly drunk. Keys?”

Connor huffs and pulls away. It takes him a moment to dig his keys out of his pocket, and he has to stab at the door three times to get them in. When he finally succeeds, he lets out a triumphant noise and sticks out his tongue at Oliver. Connor is thankful his apartment is on the first floor, but Oliver takes the keys out of his hand.

“You’re so stubborn. I’d say it’s cute if it wasn’t so annoying.” He unlocks Connor’s door. Connor steps in and turns to face Oliver when a sudden wave of nausea hits him. He runs to the bathroom and barely manages to lift the lid of his toilet before he throws up.

It takes fifteen minutes before he stumbles out. He figures that Oliver’s let himself out by now, but when he steps out of his room, he sees him waiting in the couch in the living room. “You okay?” he asks.

Connor groans. “I think I was eighteen last time I threw up from drinking too much.”

“I got some water for you. And I found some bread. You should probably eat that as well so you don’t have a headache when you wake up.”

“Look, you don’t have to take care of me. I’m sorry I got you up. It’s like – three in the morning?”

“More like four,” Oliver says. He smiles. “It’s okay, though. I just want to make sure you’re fine.”

“Why do you care about me, anyway? You literally just fixed my computer one time.” Connor sits down next to him on the couch and grabs the glass of water.

“Maybe I was hoping you’d need to call again to have something fixed.” Oliver rubs at the back of his neck. “God, I hope you forget I said that in the morning.”

Connor smirks. “I knew you thought I was cute!”

“Shut up and drink your water.”

“You kept on acting so nervous that day, and I swear I saw you staring at my ass.”

“Okay, but you stared at my ass too,” Oliver says. “I got confirmation that you thought I was cute. You said so earlier.”

Connor raises and eyebrow and leans in, but Oliver puts a hand on his shoulder. “What?” Connor asks.

“There’s no way I’m doing this when you’re this drunk.” Oliver sighs and looks at his watch. “Though I would appreciate if I could crash on your couch.”

“It’s four AM and you drove me here. You can crash on my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Couch is fine.” He picks up the glass of water and the bread. “Let’s get you settled into your room first and then you can tell me where the blankets are.”

\- -

Connor wakes up at eleven. The sun glares into his eyes, and he groans at the mild throbbing in his head. All things considered, he knows he could be worse. Glancing over at his bedside table, he sees an almost-empty glass of water and some bread.

Oliver.

He places his head in his hand as he remembers last night – the things he said and the way he acted. “Well, fuck.” Glancing at his phone, he sees three missed calls from Andrew.

“Double fuck.” His date with Andrew was at 10. With everything else, he’d completely forgotten about it. He tosses his phone to the side and spreads out on his bed. It takes him a moment before he realizes he smells bacon and eggs.

He takes a few minutes to get up, but when he does, he stumbles his way over to the bathroom to brush his teeth before making his way to the kitchen. He finds Oliver up and making breakfast. 

When Oliver sees him, he lifts his spatula up in defense. “I’m sorry. I should have asked before I touched your stuff. I just… you were very out of it. I wanted to make sure you had something to put into your stomach.”

Connor laughs and moves forward, cupping Oliver’s cheek and pressing their lips together. Oliver lets out a squeak of surprise before leaning in. His arm falls to Connor’s waist. Connor can smell Oliver’s morning breath, but he doesn’t care as he runs his tongue over Oliver’s lower lip. Oliver lets out a breathy moan, and his fingers tighten around Connor’s waist, and Connor presses his hips forward.

The sound of the smoke alarm breaks them off, and Oliver flushes as he waves a cloth in front of it. “I think the bacon burned a little.”

“That’s fine. That’s… more than fine,” Connor says.


End file.
